


The City That Is

by Baccatapages



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Balthazar is a cat, Certainly not Evil, Dark Magic, Fae!Charlie, Good Ruby?, Happy Ending, I promise, Lonely!Castiel sort of, M/M, Magic, Matriarchal society... kinda, Michael/Nick is not incestuous, Slight Gay Panic, Undead...ness, all will be revealed, dead but not, lonely!dean, mentions of forced death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-05-28 00:09:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15036344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baccatapages/pseuds/Baccatapages
Summary: Castiel Is a relatively ordinary teen in a world of extraordinary things, similar in many ways to our own but different in others. He is forced to open his eyes to the extremes of the world he resides in after he is attacked by Devils, creatures that can do things he never even thought possible.





	1. Tellurian and Taniwha

**Author's Note:**

> Tellurian : of or inhabiting the earth, or an inhabitant of the earth  
> Taniwah : a mythical monster which, according to Maori legend, lives in very deep water
> 
>  
> 
> Pseudo was previously RavenclawArchangel666, changed because... seriously?

 

 

 

Relationships suck.

That’s the first thing that came to mind while he trudged down the pavement, kicking away leaves fallen from overhanging trees along the road. He loved Meg from the word go, he really did. In their earlier years, (around two years ago,) they were diabetes-inducingly sweet (Charlie’s words, not his) with each other because the magic was still there. Then they went to college. He started studying the science of nature, which his dad approved of.

Meg disapproved, of course. She, like her sisters, took a course in hair-dressing (was that even a thing?). He’d never become a hairdresser or a stylist, mainly because he couldn’t pick out a ‘good’ fashion from ‘a bunch of ridiculously gross and out of style’ fashions according to Meg. They all looked the same to him, though they were getting more extreme and elaborate by the season.

Once, Meg had excitedly shown him her expensive fashion magazine with a sickeningly skinny woman in an absurd dress that had peacock feathers splayed out as if courting a female. Vaguely, he had wondered how many innocent peacocks had their tail feathers plucked for the benefit of a dress a sane woman would never be seen dead in.  

He supposed that’s how it was. Modern trends leading perfectly pretty girls into believing they were ugly or had to be as thin as paper or wear a dress as if impersonating a feather duster. Though that influence was fading, as the World Leaders noticed the effect the media was having on people and were beginning to take action.

Unfortunately, Meg had been sucked into that trap. Once upon a time, they bonded over seeing films at the theatre and binge-watching Supernatural sagas, trading limited edition comics and cosplaying as their favourite characters at Comicontest. The Supernatural Sagas were the best series of movies about adventurers with a dash of romance thrown in.

Both their rooms had been littered with pop figures and posters, special merchandise stuffing shelves to the brim. When Meg claimed she was throwing it all into the bin, he took it from her gladly and kept it in his already cluttered room.

The next time he went into Meg’s room to get her eyeliner she had forgotten (most likely on purpose), he nearly gagged when an explosion of pink hit his poor, poor eyes. He wasn’t even aware they sold that shade of pink in Lemnos’ supplies, let alone in any DIY brand shop.  Then Meg told him it was a special edition that her parents managed to get her.

It was quite clear that terror-inducing hot pink paint may not have completely been Meg’s idea but she was clearly desperate to fit in. Besides, some of the furniture wasn’t bad, per se, it was just hard to look at directly without protection. Yeah, that was it.

He wasn’t so sure redecorating and replacing the Supernatural posters with ‘I <3 ZA’ posters was such a brilliant idea. ZA stood for Zachariah Adler, who was the current Prime Minister who could be viewed as ‘ruggedly handsome’ but knew squat about politics. He was the first male President and Castiel thoroughly disliked him the first moment he saw him giving a speech to a small male-majority crowd.

Regardless, he still loved Meg. Even if he was attending revision meetings alone, meeting famous actors with no one else to share the joy with. Sometimes, he still saw the two vaguely chubby teenagers who were so enthusiastic about Supernatural it hurt, who loved to dance and sing like no one was watching.

He supposed that’s why he stayed. For those rare moments when they would fangirl/fanboy over a new Supernatural film or something of the like. Other times, he would just listen to Meg rant and blab on and on and on about how so and so’s being a                      and                      who isn’t even                      pretty.

The one time he interrupted her incessant and boring rant, she had burst into tears, screamed at him and pushed him off the wall they were perched on. He didn’t really know what to tell the healers and healers when they asked how he had broken his arm so badly and gained a minor concussion.

Despite being a nerd and geek (and proud!) he obviously had some dignity. He told the healers he fell by accident and that it was his own fault. He did blush when they claimed that his fall was equivalent to someone twice his size and strength pushing him.

This time, instead of risking a broken arm or worse, he simply left. Stalking through the darkness, he formulated a plan in his head. The night was still young, despite it being dark. (It wasn’t his fault the days were shorter) He decided he would sit in his room with the TV playing a Supernatural marathon, the lights down low, Balthy the cat purring on his lap while he waited for his takeaway to arrive.

His other friend, Charlie, never said anything particularly bad about Meg but never liked hanging out with her. Meg claimed that she had taken a fancy to Castiel but, while he was flattered, he only really viewed Charlie as a sister or something. Dean, near the end of their friendship, could be seen speaking in hushed tones to Charlie during lunch.

Castiel wasn’t fat. He was far from it, actually. It was his luck that he was one of those disgustingly fortunate people who burned more energy than they took in. This resulted in him being on the running team, eating with the gusto of ten men and trying to fend off girls (and sometimes boys).

Meg told him jealously that this was because of his looks. He did try to look for what people saw, but didn’t find much. All he found was an eighteen-year-old with ruffled, generally messy dark brown hair. His eyes were a plain blue. Dull. Dull dull dull. There was nothing particularly remarkable about his appearance, in his opinion.

His father never had any complaints about his diet. Then again, his dad never had any comments about much that Castiel did. He was away, more often than not, leaving enough money for a spoilt princess to survive on without worry with an emergency number taped to the fridge.

Sometimes, he got the feeling that his dad had cameras or something set up. Once, the house had been broken into and all the money stolen. The next morning, more money was stuffed into the letterbox in a sealed bag. How no one saw fit to steal it was beyond him but Castiel would take what he could get.

                                                                                      

Looking both ways, he crossed the road and entered the small park. Some bold nocturnal animals drew attention to themselves but he paid them no heed. He had some good memories from being in St. so and so’s park. He never really bothered to learn its name, despite loving the park dearly. The reason for this was because he could trace the route to the park from almost any building in the city on the back of his hand.

He’d had his first kiss on the bench near the pond where he sat, contemplating life. His first date had been them feeding the ducks and swans with Meg. Unfortunately, that had led him trying to chase away a mama-swan that got angry at Meg for being too close to her cygnets. That date had led to her being carted off to hospital. When Castiel had told Charlie and Dean, it took ten minutes for them to stop laughing and Charlie to climb up back onto the bed where she had fallen off from laughing.

Charlie was most noticeable for her vibrant red hair. If she was a creature, she never said anything. But Castiel did suspect a fae, perhaps. Though she did beat back any advances from male or female, so perhaps one of the more friendly fae.

As he gazed over the large pond, he tried to remember everything that had happened that week. It had certainly been more eventful. Monday morning, he had received a broken voicemail from god-knows who, putting a dark cloud over his head for the rest of the day. That was a shame, because they were looking at behaviour in scared, insentient creatures which Castiel was rather interested in.

Charlie had called him and left a message, claiming she wanted to catch up and that she had something to tell him which she really wanted help with. Castiel made a mental note to call her back as she seemed fairly agitated.

He had also been more clumsy than usual. While rushing to get to class, he accidentally ran into some middle-aged woman who had a scalding hot drink in her hand, if the reaction from others around her was anything to go by.

Next day, he’d been running to catch the train and someone had walked straight across his path and made him falter. He’d missed the train by seconds. He cursed his politeness. If he’d just barrelled past, he wouldn’t have been late for his class with a teacher that already hated him.

He’d been severely freaked out when the security alarm went off at ridiculous O’clock and no one was there. Nothing as stolen and there were no signs of suspicious activity. The police explained to him that his dad set in place mountains upon mountains of protection around the house in terms of technology and sensors. It had taken a bit of courage to call Meg, considering she needed her ‘beauty sleep’, but once she understood, she’d been a metaphorical shoulder to lean on. That had been the only silver lining after being scared out of his socks.

He’d got his real girlfriend back for that night. The kind, compassionate, funny, smart girl. But he did pay the price the next day, as she yelled at him for her being so tired. He gets scared out of his mind by some stupid cat and she loses two hours of sleep. Go figure. It probably would’ve done him good to call Charlie, but she had sounded so tired and worn out that Castiel didn’t want to disturb her.

His trip down memory lane took a long walk off a short pier when he felt a warm breeze coax him out of his mind palace. Deep into winter + no sun = cold, miserable weather. For Dnalgne, anyway.

“Castiel William Carter.” A deep, nasal male voice said, causing Castiel whip around, eyes narrowed in his search for the creepy sounding man. “You don’t know how long we’ve been looking for you.”

 

Normally, Castiel would’ve run but the sound of the safety being taken off a gun conveniently placed to his neck stopped him. _Bollocks._ He chanced a glance to the man threatening him, and was shocked to see his Dentist. Castiel’s teeth had been in good condition, so he’d never really had to go to the dentist and so he’d never really learnt his name.

“Uh, you could’ve just called me in for an appointment?” Castiel said, trying to hide his nervousness from his Dentist. “There’s no need to use violence. Or guns for that matter.”

“I’m disinclined to take your advice.” His Dentist said, pressing the gun harder into Castiel’s neck.

“So you’re some psycho dentist? I thought you liked me!” Castiel protested, trying to stay as still as possible. “I take good care of my teeth!”

“Ah, yes, well I needed to find someone who actually knew your face.” His dentist mused.

“What are you?” Castiel gritted his teeth. Meg had always said gritting his teeth was his worse habit that was worth seeing a therapist about, apparently. “You’re acting like that demon dentist from that book!”

His dentist chuckled. “You’re in no position to make demands.” He said with a sneer lacing his words. “But since you asked so nicely, the name’s Breinthal de Oelna et Beinchnar.”

“Right… Um, well,” Castiel hesitated. He honestly couldn’t be bothered to say that every time he thought about the guy. “Bob.” He was being threatened by a man named Bob. In all honesty, not the most terrifying name for a baddie. You never trembled in fear of ‘Bob the Dictator’. “I’m going to call you Bob.”

“No.” The dentist growled. “It-“

“Bob?” Castiel nodded. “There’s no shame in that name. It’s just not very threatening, is all.” Sass and sarcasm were the only things keeping him sane at that point. The gun was pressed to the nape of his neck and Castiel could practically sense the glare of irritation piercing Castiel’s skull.

In all fairness, he had named his goldfish Bob.  So, whenever he heard the name ‘Bob’ his mind immediately went to ‘goldfish he may or may not have overfed… by accident’. Not ‘ahh! Scary man with a gun!’ His brain was ridiculously useless when it came to situations like being held at gunpoint or quadratic equations.

“You’re going to give me what I want, then I’m going to kill you.” Bob seemed to smirk but Castiel couldn’t really tell.

“Bite me.”

“Wrong answer.” The needle was jabbed into his neck, causing pain to flare from that point downwards.

Castiel barely registered the rush of air as the molecules attempted to fill the space left behind by Bob. “Run!” Someone yelled. “For Graedmefotras’s sake, run you idiot!” Normally, Castiel disregarded rules often enough. But at that moment, he had never been so far from disobeying. He was actually tempted to ask who Graedmefotras was, but thought better of it when his vision blurred and his neck started hurting again. Besides, he didn’t like to be called an idiot.

Castiel ran. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he felt others running behind him, giving chase. This distinctly reminded him of the numerous times when he’d been chased by the bullies during secondary school. He was hauled back into reality when at least three different voices shouted after him.

Perhaps Castiel should’ve taken the actual path that led to the physical, sturdy bridge. Instead, he ran through some shrubbery and long grass. Someone decided it was a good idea to leave recycling bags there so, naturally, Castiel tripped over them. From the smell, he suspected they were filled with marijuana but he didn’t have much time to contemplate what they actually were, because he smacked his head on a low branch and tumbled into the river and cracked his head on the side.

Ultimately, not the best ending to the day but it could’ve been worse. You know. If the universe tried really really hard. Which, of course, it did.

 

Castiel woke up on the river bank, coughing and spluttering with something crawling up his leg. He couldn’t have been out long, but long enough for someone to snatch his phone, so he couldn’t call anyone and his wallet so he couldn’t pay for a train fare home or drown his sorrows in chips.

Reluctantly, he dragged himself back to his house that felt like it was on the other side of the world. A warm shower, hot take out leftovers and a Supernatural marathon. Probably in that order.

Castiel kicked off his shoes that narrowly missed Balthy and felt the urge to slump on the sofa, never mind Plan A. He didn’t know what was in that syringe, but it made him feel woozy. As a result, the sofa rose to meet him as the lights brightened and he squirmed away. Castiel reached out blindly and turned the light off just after Balthy jumped up and settled on his chest, purring protectively.

Five minutes. That’s all the time he planned to sleep for. Instead, he got thirty second before the was the click of the switch and the light turned on. Castiel grunted and turned it off again. The light was switched back on so Castiel turned it back off. It was only then he noticed and sat up, dislodging Balthy as the light turned on again.

“Castiel William Carter.” A female voice said, vaguely familiar. A female voice from the other side of the room. Castiel nodded slightly. “Hmm. I’m glad. I was beginning to think I’d saved the wrong person. Otherwise I wouldn’t have bothered.”

Castiel squinted at her, his eyes drifting to the knife twirling in her hand. Castiel prayed that she wasn’t a knife-wielding maniac, he’d had enough of maniacs for one lifetime.

The first thing he noticed about her was the glasses resting on her nose. Pristine aviators that reflected everything and revealed nothing about her eyes, like one-way mirrors used in police films. Castiel couldn’t help wonder who on Earth wore sunglasses in the evening. Indoors. She would’ve been pretty, in fact she was, but the jagged scar running down the side of her face ruined the aesthetic. It was a monstrous blemish, but didn’t seem to hit her eye so she had no reason to wear the glasses. Slightly curled brown hair, framing a graceful face with a hideous stain that couldn’t be removed.

“You’re not another Dentist are you?” Castiel groaned.

She raised her eyebrow slightly. “I have no qualifications as a Dentist.”

“No, I mean what he was. It was like it took over my Dentist. I’ve never really heard of something that could to that other than a Spirit but it had golden eyes.” Castiel rubbed his eyes, willing his grogginess to go away. “He said his name was Bob.”

“Bob?”

“Bob!”

“Bob.”

“Bob.”

“Surely you don’t mean-“ Her lips quirked, which seemed to be the extent of her amusement. “Ah. You mean Breinthal de Oelna et Beinchnar, yes? Also known as Alastair?”

“Yeah. Him.” Grunted Castiel as Balthy purred from somewhere nearby. “Bob!”

“Bob. I see. Well, I’ll be sure to pass that on to my friend.” She said, amusement lacing her tone. Her clothes revealed almost nothing about her. They were plain black and contrasted greatly to the lightly coloured furniture around her. Castiel found it very frustrating, not being able to figure her out.

“Are you going to kill me?” Castiel sighed, really hoping the answer was no. She didn’t respond, as she had risen from the armchair and paced around the living room and gazed at the pictures.

“That would be redundant, don’t you think?” She turned to face him, but he couldn’t be sure where she was looking because of those goddamn glasses. “I stop Brein- Bob from killing you, along with his five other brothers, then kill you myself.” She had a point.

“He said he wanted something from me.” Castiel inquired, squinting in vain to see through the glasses.

“You think I know what he wanted?” She scoffed. “He and his brothers’ motives remain a mystery to us all.” She considered him for a moment, then turned away. “Apologies I didn’t get to you sooner and that you had to be without a guardian for a few days. But let’s look on the bright side, you’re not dead and that’s all that counts. You might want to answer that.”

“Answer what?”

Castiel squinted at her to see if she was being serious when the phone rang. Castiel was worried she would stop him from answering it, but she appeared occupied with stroking Balthy who had walked up to her. Cautiously, he picked up the phone and bombarded by one massive rant, resulting in him nearly dropping the phone.

“OhmygodCastielbabyareyouokpleasetellmeyou’renotignoringme-“

“Meg.”

“-pleasetellmeyou’realivei’msosorryIheardtherewereshots-“

“Meg.”

“-firedinourparkandohmygodohmygodthey’vefoundseveralbodies-“

“Meg.”

“-andtheydon’tknowwhoitisandohmylairdohmylaird-“

“MEG!” Castiel shouted. The woman in black looked at him, a twist of amusement on her lips. Meg stopped her rant, thank the Laird. Castiel glanced at where the woman was still stroking Balthy, not bothered by Castiel’s outburst to silence Meg. “Slow down.”

“Please tell me you’re ok.” Meg said at a much more decent pace.

“I’m tired. I lost the wallet you gave me, along with my phone.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh, baby, do you want me to come over?” Meg offered soothingly. Castiel glanced at the other occupant of the room who faced him and shook her head.

“No, I’m tired and I just want to sleep.” Castiel really had no idea why was doing what the supposed knife-wielding maniac told him to do.

There was a long, pregnant pause. “Is this ‘cause of our fight?”

“No, Meg, I’m just really tired.” Castiel insisted. It took ten more minutes for Castiel to get Meg placated enough to hang up the phone.

Once he pressed the red button, Castiel sighed and slumped down in a chair. Another call came through, the name on the screen showing ‘Charlie’. He hesitated, then pressed the call button and held the speaker to his ear. “Hey, Charlie.”

“Don’t you ‘Hey Charlie’ me.” His friend snapped. “Why did I hear gunshots from the park you frequent so much?”

“Um, it’s a long story.” Castiel sighed. “One I can’t really tell at this time of night.”

“Castiel, you’re not an old man for gods’ sake! It’s only half seven! It’s winter, remember? It gets dark before half of us have even got up!”

“Oh. Right. Well, uh, I’m just really tired after everything.”

There was a pause, as if Charlie already knew everything that happened. “You had another fight, didn’t you?”

“Well…”

“Castiel, that’s the fifth one this month! You need to break up with her before this gets any worse!” His friend pressed. Castiel had forgotten that she was annoyingly stubborn when she wanted to be.

“I’ll call you later, Charlie.” He snapped his phone shut and slumped back into the sofa.

He looked up to see his saviour looking at a picture from Samhain about ten years previously. “Is this you in the hero costume?” She asked, tapping one of the figures.

Castiel squinted and felt a blush rise up his face. “No. Uh, I’m the one with the cat costume.” She looked at the picture again then shrugged and placed it back.

“You look very fetching with a tail.” Was all she said and that made Castiel’s cheeks go red. “Your father is away, I presume.” Something in her tone suggested she knew his dad was gone but Castiel didn’t press it.

“He works in the courts for people like, I dunno, the Queen or a World Leader.” Castiel shrugged. He never really liked talking about his dad. Either he’d get bullied because he was a snooty rich boy with daddy’s credit card, or people would become friends with him so they could get something out of it. Often, Castiel really wished he could just give it all to charity, his dad could get a job nearby and they could have freaking Sunday roasts or something normal families did.

“You’re one of the unlucky ones, then.” She grunted, moving to the chair he’d first seen her in.

Something in Castiel snapped. “Who are you? What are you even doing here?” Castiel demanded, snatching Balthy from her reach and putting him outside. “You just show up and… And pet my cat!” He paused. “Who doesn’t even like strangers!”

“Well, I’m not here to kill your cat if that’s what you’re worried about.” She said, frowning slightly. “To answer your first question, you can call me Ruby.”

“Is that an acronym for a name that I’m not even going to try and pronounce?” Castiel scowled and Ruby regarded him for a moment.

“Yes. That’s what my friend calls me as he claims he can’t be bothered to say my full name.” Friend. Singular. Considering how blunt and infuriating she was, Castiel couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised.

“Let me guess, you ‘friend’ is some creepy old codger who preaches on a street corner every Sunday about how the world’s ending?” Castiel sneered, really hoping that she would leave. He would try and get her out by force, but something in his gut told him that was a fight he wouldn’t get out of alive.

“Close. He’s actually a trickster sprite who is about a thousand years old. And then some.” Ruby shrugged. How is that close?

“I’m not awake enough for this.” Castiel grumbled. “I feel sick.”

“That’s normal.” Ruby nodded. “You were injected with scopolamine. It would’ve put you in a catatonic state where they could’ve done whatever they liked with you. I suggest you go to bed.”

“By morning, you’ll be gone, I’ll find my wallet and phone down the back of the sofa and I’ll have a day off ‘cause I don’t have any classes tomorrow.” Castiel trudged up the stairs, turning off the lights as he went. He jumped in the shower then fell asleep with Balthy on his chest. In a daze, he vaguely remembered putting he cat outside but was asleep before he put any thought into it.

 


	2. Aspergillum and apoptosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> apoptosis - the death of cells which occurs as a normal part of an organism's growth or development  
> Aspergillum - an implement used for sprinkling holy water in religious ceremonies

**_Life_ **

**_lʌɪf_ **

**_Noun_ **

**_The condition that distinguishes animals and plants from inorganic matter, including the capacity for growth, reproduction, functional activity, and continual change preceding death._ **

**_Synonyms: existence, being, living, animation, aliveness, animateness_ **

**_The existence of an individual human being or animal._ **

**_Synonyms: person, human being, individual, mortal, soul, creature_ **

_Billions of souls dancing across the thin skin of the Earth. Billions of voices crying out to be heard, above the rest, for attention. For love. For approval. For justice. Hell, just for the satisfaction of being a pain in the backside. A thorn in your side. That screensaver image that follows your cursor around and eats it, just for giggles._

_Inhabitants of the Right are all the same. They have a heart pumping blood around their body, a set of lungs taking in oxygen and giving out carbon dioxide which is infuriatingly necessary for their survival. The skin cells constantly replacing themselves, throwing away their old, dry counterparts and contributing to the mass army of dust bunnies under the bed._

_The neurones in the brain working furiously to keep them from being hit by a car because a man is too drunk to even walk straight. Working to translate the child’s meaningless babble into something that could be interpreted as hunger, a full nappy or just general grumpiness._

_Round and round the mortals go, stuck in the same routine. Sleep, dream, wake up, eat, go to work, eat, do more work, go home, sleep. Repeat. Again and again. Until it stops. Much like watching the grass grow painfully slowly, only for it to be cut down when it reaches an unacceptable length. Or watching paint dry on a wall to the point of insanity, sweet relief flooding the system to be free of that agonising task, only to have another coat applied to the surface and the cycle to begin again._

_Sometimes their humans fight against the grain, take the leap of faith, stare down the barrel of the gun, break the mould, challenge the social norm. Those humans are remembered by history. Praised by other sheep among the ever-growing flock. Sometimes these ‘special’ humans, truthfully, have nothing particularly exceptional about them._

_They eat, they breathe, they drink. Sometimes they don’t even raise their head above the crowd, shout to the Heavens about their great deeds and feel not a speck of guilt for drawing away the spotlight away from those who truly deserve it. But, then again, those who have the Light taken away from them often shine the brightest. Laugh the loudest. Cry the hardest. Smile the biggest. Fight with the most strength. Intentionally take the short straw for the benefit of others around them who may not even deserve their kindness._

_But in the Left, it couldn’t be more different. While their world flourishes, each man and woman and child to their own, in Yabmob, far in the East, if you look hard enough, you can see the fishmongers selling fish and oysters to civilians. There is a boy crouching at the corner of one of the fishmonger stands, praying that the gruff man will take pity. He does. The fishmonger hands the boy a fish that had been overlooked by many others and smiles sadly. The man doesn’t ask, considering all of the people in Yabmob knew the economy was a mess. So the boy thanks him and runs. Runs like he used to do with his older brother. Through the crowded streets and into a very small apartment facing the river._

_The monger would’ve gladly donated some of his catch of the day, regardless of the child’s gender. That is how it has been until very recently. Before gender equality became a thing, female offspring were desirable because they held the most power and status. Society follows by example._

_And the example set by the Holy Book is that woman is favoured by the Creator, or Creators, of the pitiful world billions stand on. And let’s not forget to mention that the Creator is female. She welcomed the world with love and affection, creating the stars to light the way and the moon to be the watcher of the night._

_But such is life._

_His heart is warm from the kindness of the fishmonger, the boy crosses the small room and grabs the small amount of salt they have left and rubs it into the cold body of the fish. He places it into the pan and sets it over the dying coals. Perhaps they will make it through the night. The boy doesn’t know what to do. His mother would know. His father would know._

_They would hug him tightly and plant a kiss on his cheek, tell him to run outside and play with his older brother while their sister went to the market. Then they would take care of everything. They would take care of the fire, they would take care of the home, they would take care of the food, they would take care of Grandfather._

_His grandfather started coughing after his brother left to find work two years prior. Then his head started to hurt and he got a fever. Then his legs stopped working. His muscles shrank and his grandfather stopped walking. Stopped hoping. Then they started to twist and looked weird. Different to his own feet._

_“Child.” His grandfather says, turning his head in the direction of his daughter’s son. “Forgive me.”_

_“Grandfather.” The boy approaches the old man, kneeling next to him. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You did not take away Mother, or Father, or Anika. You did not send my brother to work far away.”_

_“Did I ever tell you of the time your mother was with child with you? She was disgusted by the smell of fish, as well as the taste. One man, trying to woo your mother, did not know this. He offered her some fish to eat and then she threw up all over his fancy shoes.” His grandfather chuckles sadly while the boy laughs. “My dear boy, forgive me for leaving so early.”_

_“It cannot be helped.” The boy says, starting to cry. “Can it?”_

_“No, my dear boy. But I will be reunited with your Grandmother. My beautiful Pari. And my little Princess and her Prince. And their princess. And I will tell them what a brave Prince you have been. What a fantastic man you will grow to be.” His grandfather closes his eyes. “And I will see the stars. And I will tell them how you have made this world a little bit brighter.” The boy cries harder as he is about to lose his beloved grandfather. “Please do not cry for me, child. My only regret is leaving you at the mercy of this world. I ask you to cry for those who cannot shine themselves. So that they may once again find a way to be at peace… As I am with you.”_

_The boy blinks tears out of his eyes as his Grandfather’s reaper, his Valkraineluph, approaches silently. The figure in white robes takes the hand of his Grandfather and the man’s soul rises from his body, reluctantly moving on with the reaper._

_Righteous humans are sometimes given a task of watching the world. Either from the sky or from the rivers or from the ground. They cannot be harmed by the Creatures from the Between and the Creatures are very aware of that._

_Such creatures have their own place in the world. Some ensure the houses, some planted in the ground and some in trees or in rivers, remain safe from the forces of nature. They live and breathe, die and eat. But the difference is that, between them and the humans from the Right, they would give everything if asked and never request anything in return._

_A trait such as that is instinctual for the Fae, the Vrischmatalm, the Haelmanai, the Fulrainme and so many more. The guardians of the Scales of Balance. That is what makes a human Righteous; to be able to give everything without expecting anything in return. Untainted by greed, or by lust or wrath. Perhaps not completely pure, but aware. And more willing to see._

_But, like in every cliché story, there is always a bad… batch of eggs. Bad eggs. People or creatures you shouldn’t even touch with a ten foot pole. And yet they disguise themselves. They are aware of the risks. The possibility that you could end up burning at the stake, walking up the steps to the hangman’s noose. Or, by some accounts, being thrown off of a cliff. But then again, humans have always exaggerated when adrenaline is running a marathon through their bodies._

_Of course there are people who think it their mission or purpose in life to protect those who can’t protect themselves. How noble. But, usually, those people end up getting killed because of either bravado, pride or just plain stupidity. They try to make a name for themselves among both worlds, both societies. In the end, they often don’t make a single dent in the solid approval of society. It’s sad really. But sometimes it can be amusing, depending on how they kick the bucket._

_For example, in the supposed story of Little Red Riding Hood from the Right perspective, the little girl trusts a talking wolf and picks some flowers. The wolf then puts on a voice mimicking the little girl and the grandmother, who must’ve thought that the wolf was a lost dog or something because she was almost completely deaf, let the wolf in. Really, you would’ve thought that the grandmother with all her many years of experience wouldn’t think twice about keeping a talking wolf out of her house. But apparently the grandmother also didn’t notice the wolf had four eyes._

_A talking wolf-like creature with four eyes and the ability to mimic voices points to a Trickster’s true form. Most are very powerful and skilful, however, being able to trick a young little girl and an old woman with one foot in the grave is not saying much._

_Moving on, the main point is that most humans on the Right are so painfully oblivious to the unnatural and paranormal. And those who want to help often have no idea what they are fighting against and end up as a teapot or something equally boring._

_Mary Shelly, who wrote Dracula, wrote the novel with the vampire over tea and cakes. Her intention was to have a brilliant adventure and perhaps meet a vampire, which she did, but was prepared to have her blood sucked or whatever else vampires do to eat. She did not expect to have tea and cakes with a vampire._

_Mortals were more aware during the Middle Ages and Ancient Times. Most likely due to the fact that higher powers had more of an influence in the world. So when two cars crash into each other due to unnatural influence, people know that something bad is the catalyst and know it will be dealt with in due course. Neither one sees when they were on one side of the road then the other._

_It goes something like this._

_One man, your average joe, who rides a rickety bike and wears a suit to work every day. In fact, let’s call him Joe. In all honesty, his name isn’t particularly significant. Another man, your stereo-typical trucker with the cap and ragged beard. John is a suitable name for the purpose of retelling the events of November 29th, 10:59pm in the town of Dnaltrop, Nogero._

_John is running late. He wants to be home for his 20th anniversary with his wife and drives slightly faster than should be allowed. But the roads are quiet, the only noise comes from John’s lorry. He stops at a red light and turns up his music a bit more._ All the better for no one to hear his screams _, thinks the Spirit hiding behind the veil._

_Joe is coming back from a late night at the office where he works as an IT technician. He has no one waiting for him at home. Unless you count his goldfish. But the small fish doesn’t provide Joe with very good conversation. Joe is divorced with two children at the age of forty-five. He made some mistakes and doesn’t get to see his children. Ever._

_He is, of course, in no hurry. Unlike John who is impatiently tapping his steering wheel, waiting for the light to at least turn amber. With his eyes on the traffic lights, he doesn’t notice the shadowy hand grasp his shoulder until a chill passes through him and he can’t move. Well, he can’t move what he wants to move because someone else is controlling his body from the inside. Who? Well, that’s not really important._

_Joe comes trundling along on his bike, seeing that the traffic light is green for him. Poor average Joe doesn’t see the eighteen-wheeler lorry hurtling towards his car that doesn’t stand a chance. The behemoth smashes his wheels, crumples the frame of the bike and condemns Joe to a slow and painful death under the skin of the tyre. The paramedics will arrive in three minutes and fifty three seconds as a hospital is only five streets away and the roads are clear. And Joe will choke on his own blood for three minutes until he finally dies._

_John, however, who has become a vessel for the vengeful Spirit, is walking into his home. They crashed only a yard away from his house._

_John’s wife, her name is unimportant, has woken up from the sound of the crash. She’s at the door with the phone in her hand, talking to a Seeker to deal with the creature when John walks in. The children, closer to teenagers, are standing on the stairs anxiously._

_He closes the door. He smiles crookedly and embraces his wife. Then he snaps her neck. His children scream and run. Not much use. The Spirit finds them eventually and after he’s done, he kills his host._

_Joe, well, he’s already dead. But he ignores his Valkraineluph, his Reaper, for a few moments. And he looks for the man that killed him. The Reaper follows silently._

_The Spirit blanches in fear of the Reaper who stays off to the side, very much aware that his job will be done for him. In ten seconds, the Spirit will have been forcefully dragged from its dead host and put to rest in flames._

_And so she nods an acknowledgement to the Reaper and moves on to drag the Spirit away. Perhaps as an act of justice, she doesn’t move away to burn the Spirit’s grief and madness and Earthly essence away in private, for it is a painful process to experience and watch. She allows Joe and the John’s family to watch as the Spirit is burnt away from the earthly plain and cast down into Damnation._

_She ignores the Reaper leaving with Joe and John and his family. But they don’t ignore her. They stare at her scar. At her demeanour, at the aura surrounding her._

_Moments after she becomes the only living creature in the terraced house, she is joined by another. He is quite surprised that she answered his summons and grateful he wouldn’t have to put a Spirit to rest. It was uncomfortable to do._

_He moves gracefully around the crumpled body of the wife and to where she is leaning against the wall. They don’t talk, merely stand in the darkness of the empty house. Well, empty except for the five bodies scattered around the house._

_“Where’ve you been?” He asks, examining her posture for any differences._

_“_ My recent whereabouts are none of your concern _.” She says coldly, which is, of course, to be expected. His first guess is one of the Cidron countries, as she says this in Hsidews. “_ I am not one for small talk. Why did you summon me _?”_

_Straight to business._

_“I have a job for you.” He says and draws out a file from the Between, opening it for her to read. She doesn’t even glance at it, though. It seems her reluctance remains after what happened with her previous charge._

_“_ I am not interested. Last time… well, we all know how that went _.” She pushes against the wall and stands straight, then vanished. Running away. Either she doesn’t want the pain or she doesn’t want to cause him pain. He would like to think it is the second theory._

_He huffs in frustration and follows her trail to the bedroom of the youngest teenager, where she is looking through the window out to the small garden. The new moon prevents him from seeing her face, though the stars do their best._

_“You handle extreme cases. This is the extreme case of extreme cases!” He throws the folder on the bed and crosses his arms._

_“_ I honestly could not care less _.” She says softly and begins to draw shapes on the glass of the window. He hates how stubborn she always is. Two hundred years ago, she would be all for it._

_“He’s a college student-“ He tries in vain, holding up a picture of the eighteen year old._

_“_ I am not listening _.” She vanishes again and he tracks her to the cellar where she is frowning at a jar of pickled onions._

_“-and he’s being targeted by the Devils!” This is getting ridiculous, he thinks. At this rate, the poor kid will be dead before I finish this conversation._

_“_ Aren’t they all? What makes him so special? Get someone else to do it _.” She places the jar back in its original place and walks away through the wall._

_He scowls and runs after her, ignoring the worm wriggling on his ear. “But he’s so inexperienced he won’t survive if another becomes his guardian!” He had observed the Light Bearer for a day while Bela was guarding him and it had been excruciatingly painful._

_“_ You honestly believe I have enough patience to help some spoilt brat _?” No, but you don’t need to know that. When she vanishes again, he goes and sits on a stool by the breakfast bar in the kitchen. After failing to call her bluff, he tracks her to the front porch._

_“You don’t know he’s a spoilt brat-“ He manages to get in before her mouth twists in irritation and she’s gone again, standing at the top of the stairs._

_“_ They are all spoilt these days. They wouldn’t last a day in the Between _.” She spits bitterly and walks away from him as he climbs the stairs._

_“Well, we’ll never know if we never try.” He says from the other side of the bathroom door. He flinches back when she leans through the door and scowls at him._

_“_ My guardian days are over _.” She states and pushes past him._

_“That doesn’t mean you’re any less experienced than when you were at your prime.” Perhaps not the best approach, suggesting she is a wizened old hag._

_“_ It does mean I’m less willing, however _.” She chides, floating down through the wall separating the kitchen and the dining room._

_“Please? He’s going to be a challenge, but you’ve faced bigger. Besides, you always like a challenge.” He hopes her attitude towards challenges haven’t changed, though by the frown on her face they have._

_“_ He can’t be as bad as Edward. He was just… Difficult _.” That didn’t stop her from helping him build his own ship from scratch and helping him steal three more._

_“He doesn’t compare.” He assures quickly._

_“_ They’re all so different now. They have ridiculous language and obscene fashion trends! I am not going to college. Not on my life _.” She vanishes again and he follows her trail to the swing hanging from the tree in the back garden._

_“We’re not in the Right! We’re in the Left! It’s even worse over there! I’m not asking you to. But just… Do what you do. They’re targeting him and soon.” She raises an eyebrow at ‘do what you do’ but otherwise doesn’t say anything. He decides it’s the best time to pull out the flattery guns. “Please? You’re the strongest compared to everyone else.” Technically, he is telling the truth and she knows it. That’s why she ignores him._

_“_ Flattery will get you nowhere _.” She vanishes and appears in the doorway of the treehouse, leaning against the doorframe._

_“I know you were demotivated after-“_

_“_ Demotivated? That’s an understatement _.” He prevents himself from looking her in the eye due to her cold gaze but waves the file towards her._

_She vanishes and appears a few yards away. He trots towards her and keeps talking. “But according to his file, you’re not so different. You’re the best hope we have.” She has a sceptical expression on her face but holds out a hand for the folder tucked under his arm._

_“_ Why? Why is he so special? _” She finally says, flicking through the endless pages of the child’s personal information. “_ And do not say it is his fascination with a television program revolving around a serial killer’s love life _.”_

_“He’s a Blood Child.”_

_She searches his face for any signs of lying and scowls when she can’t find any. It is no surprise to him that she understands the significance and he can’t help but feel amused as a thousand different degrees of hatred flicker across her stoic expression._

_“_ I hate you. I hope you are aware of this. And you owe me. You are due no favours from me and yet I am still willing. Somewhat _.”_

_She smacks him around the head with the folder and turns away._

_“Thank you so much.” He says, rubbing the side of his head._

_“_ I still hate you _.” She turns to the page of his family history._

_“Of course.”_

_“_ That’s never going to change _.” She doesn’t look up from the folder._

_“Obviously.” He scoffs._

_“_ And because I’m solitary now means I do this on my terms and everyone else can’t comment on the way I do things _.” He worries for her future charge, but supposes that is the price they all must pay._

_“It’s not like you ever cared about what anyone else said, but alright. Naturally.”_

_“_ I feel like you’re saying these words to get me to leave _.” She points out, flicking through a book left on the side table and turns back to face him._

_“Just take the file and do your job.” He receives a scowl from her at the order and he flinches slightly._

_“_ I’m going to regret this _.” She gives a worldly sigh as police sirens rattle from the distance._

_“Bela couldn’t really handle him.”_

_“_ That’s not saying much. Bela is not quite suited to who you have here _.” He laughs at her words, quite aware that she speaks the truth._

_“About that, you may want to change your language.” He knows that her future charge only speaks Hsilgne with a dash of Hcnerf, extending only to ‘Bonjour’._

_“_ To what _?” She says indignantly, crossing her arms and leaning against a nearby ash tree._

_“Oh, I don’t know, Hsilgne.”_

_“_ I’m guessing he doesn’t speak Hcnerf, then _?” He is very aware she dislikes speaking Hsilgne, or at least, the modern version. She never gives a reason, though, for her dislike of some languages._

_“Nope.”_

_“_ Namreg _?”_

_“Nope.”_

_“_ Hsidews _?”_

_“Nada.”_

_“_ I hate the Hsilgne language. It is ever so boring and simple _.” She huffs and frowns slightly at the policemen searching the area for the killer. He suspects that is not her true reasoning._

_“Your inner child’s showing. Besides, you did create the Hsilgne language.” He muses as a stocky policeman walks through him and shivers._

_“_ I invented every language. _” She says in Esenapaj._

_“Hsilgne. Now.” He hopes she won’t maim him for giving her an order, but she merely raises her middle finger and vanishes. She is going soft, he ponders the reason why. Or perhaps her affection for him has grown, though that is unlikely._

_He starts his own trail, dancing among the clouds rest on the very peak of Tsereve. Somewhere in the distance, a mountain goat signals his whereabouts and it echoes along the earth._

_Humans are often left to their own devices, of course. The Troimalec, the Fates, are not beings to be messed with. Horrid things have been known to happen to those who meddle with fate and free will. The last person to do that ended up holding up the sky forever more. The workload is heavy and copious and the pay is non-existent._

_But it is truly amazing as to what humans worry about. They don’t worry about the possibility of the world ending, they don’t worry about someone else’s minute problems. No. They worry about things like money and food and housing and relationships. Well, the latter for this human. Almost-human, if we’re being anatomically correct._

**Author's Note:**

> I know the image doesn't have Ruby with Aviators but I couldn't find any so tough luck.  
> Constructive criticism is welcome :-)
> 
> Updates every week, attempting to be evenly spaced but other things may get in the way but as this story is already pre-written, there'll be no hold-ups unless specified otherwise the week before


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